


The Murder of A Man's Heart

by wouldgraham



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Angst, Blood Kink, Blood and Injury, Bottom Will Graham, Cheating, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Gaslighting, Hannibal cheated on Will, Insecure Will Graham, Kitchen Sex, Knifeplay, M/M, Murder Husbands, Open to Interpretation, Post-Fall, Self-Harm, Smut, Someone Help Will Graham, Top Hannibal, Vore, Will Graham Guts Himself, and i think that's fucking sexy, slight gore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-05
Updated: 2020-08-05
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:14:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25728007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wouldgraham/pseuds/wouldgraham
Summary: Upon knowing that Hannibal had cheated on him, insecure Will Graham found his own way to remind both of them that they belong to each other.
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 17
Kudos: 114





	The Murder of A Man's Heart

**Author's Note:**

  * For [eight8xeight8](https://archiveofourown.org/users/eight8xeight8/gifts).



> Hi! Would here. Finally posting my first Hannibal fic ... and also my first _legit_ fic ever, to be honest. After neglecting a lot of WIPs because of my insecurities in writing, I decided to go all out and finish this in a week.
> 
> A lot of thank yous to my beta Maddie for making this fic possible and encouraging me to actually finish a fic.
> 
> As usual, mind the tags.
> 
> I hope you guys would enjoy it. <3

He learnt a lot of things from Hannibal. Although, for most of the part, he might just remember most of Hannibal.

Will had always hated going to the opera. Unlike his husband, he didn't really have a _person suit_ , which would make every rendezvous strenuously drain his energy. Hannibal never showed his disappointment in this matter, outlandishly, nor did Will ever try to figure out the reason behind that.

Until that night.

Hannibal at home had always smelled like toast and soap. Despite his outstanding sense of fashion in semi-formal to formal garments, his husband sure had his own set of discourteous sweaters. Will liked to let his cheeks touch the cashmere patterns of those ugly sweaters, snuggling his face and relishing his nose in his domestic scent.

Will had always had a strong memory. On a trip down his memory lane, that night when Hannibal climbed up their bed after going home from the opera, he didn't smell like his favourite Clive Christian 1872 perfume he had worn the evening before. He had kissed his husband in mouthful—saying goodbye to the woody citrus olfactories he only scented for less than five minutes before his husband drove off in his Bentley after putting on his ash brown Burberry overcoat.

Hannibal smelled of mint, honeyed-leather, a musky aroma of cumin and saffron. Apparently, he hadn't bothered washing the scent off once he got home. It was so obvious Will thought he might be deliberate. Their latex mattress didn't creak when Hannibal got up in it, but Will could feel his presence, warm and heavy, sitting just beside him with him being half-awake. It had woken him up.

"Go back to sleep, Will," his husband closed his eyes after _commanding_ him to.

He didn't tell him what time it was. The lamp on the nightstand hadn't been turned on, but the lights from the road had successfully pierced through their imperfectly closed curtains. However half-lidded, his eyes could still perfectly view the strands of his husbands' hair, sticking to his forehead. The pomade he applied to his hair had lost its integrity, to what Will couldn't figure out.

Yet.

He felt his stomach stir up, combusting of anger before sunrise. Loss, incinerated.

Undoing his shirt button by button, his husband had placed the tie he was wearing inside the nightstand. Surely it was to be washed tomorrow, and Will could fathom the exhaustion outing through his gestures amid the dimness. Despite so, knowing Hannibal, certainly he was about to relieve it in a cold bath. 

Hannibal’s back was strong, and muscular at that. Usually Will wouldn’t mind looking at it for a long time, but then he noticed a teeth mark lingering on the skin of his significant other’s neck, mocking him.

Oh, how much he wanted to look away. Or run away and hide from the anger chasing himself, wanting to force his wrath and birth vengeance.

Perhaps it was dawn and the sight was his morning call.

The sun fueled fire. A gift Prometheus has given to humanity that it burned inside each of them. Nonetheless, Will had already burnt to ashes. Surely the form of its reason took up some curves of jealousy.

It was something he worried but couldn’t do anything about.

Will wanted to touch him, so he did, from behind. Hannibal’s back was bare and soft, its owner purring to the breath winding his nape, to the sniff snorting his collar. Hannibal smelled like another man and sex. It was hurtful and distasteful at the same time.

“No,” he whispered afterwards, a lull to his husband’s eardrums. Will did not want to go to sleep. He wanted to reclaim.

“Hannibal,” again, he whispered, like a nymph trying to seduce an animal. He unbuckled the belt still hanging around the other’s hips, while mouthing the same place where the bite mark was imprinted on.

His husband stayed still. Will knew he wasn’t the type to express himself even during sex. This time, his slender hands went to loosen his dress slacks, somehow hasty and untimely, as he bit down the same mark he mouthed on. The same mark Hannibal had let somebody left on his body. It pulled a grunt out of his chords, sounding like he was in pain because of the fresh sore pressure.

Rape wasn’t in his pathology, let alone to an intercourse with his victim. However mere it may be. Will thought he knew him. Could it be that Hannibal had adapted his ways of killing? Even so, it wasn’t something that would seemingly be his virtue. Hannibal was a good hunter, yes he admitted, but he wasn’t a good fisherman. Will, however, was the one who’d go fishing.

“How did you kill him?” So Will asked, his lips close to his neck.

This surmise would hurt him the less, he presumed. Part of him wanted the man Hannibal had sex with dead. He thought they had agreed with each other to own each other. Possessiveness, although may not be sane, still consensual.

 _Mine_ , he thought as he continued to slip his hands through the opened zipper of his husband’s slacks, letting his rough palms surf upon the silky material of his undergarments.

Will could feel his husband’s balls behind the brief on his hands. A gasp, then a moan, when he caressed that spot and moved his hand up and down his shaft from the outside were audibly heard. He continued his motions, his chin resting on the older man’s shoulder as he teased him haphazardly.

Hannibal jerked when he could feel his member begin to harden. He had almost elbowed Will when he tilted his head to the side, landing a chaste kiss on the lean man’s velvet lips, capturing his mouth lustfully and daringly.

“I did not kill him,” he answered later on, bringing Will’s enormous yet unspoken disappointment.

It actually should have been comprehensible if Will pulled away from his entanglement with Hannibal in the bed that night. He did not, however, at least immediately. Perhaps his jealousy had fueled his rage even further that he had to cope in order to let loose the feeling itself. Will moved himself through their blanket and pillows, then positioned himself sitting down on his husband’s lap.

“Don’t lie to me,” Will coaxed, voice hoarse as he held his husband by his jaw. He could cry, but he wouldn’t. Will could feel Hannibal’s jaws clench, something unfurling within his tongue yet chosen to stay taciturn.

Hannibal was still hard beneath him. Truly, if that should be the truth, his husband did not know any shame at all. How could he manage to do that when he had blatantly admitted to misconduct?

“You know I never lie to you, _mylimasis_.”

The grip on Will's wrists afterwards was tight and undulating. It birthed vines of fear which creeped down his spine. His husband pulled his hands away, keeping it down on his own lap. Hannibal’s own calloused fingers, however, was brought up to caress his cheeks.

They both stared, trying to find at least a glint of meaning within each other’s eyes.

Sometimes Hannibal wondered how Will could hold both the sky and the ocean in his orbs. He gave him the same look like he did five years ago, when he stabbed him as _forgiveness_. Also the same gesture, when he patted on those wet, dark brown curls—now dry and groomed.

It was a shame he could not remember whether Will had cried or was it the petrichor liquid of the November rain.

Hannibal's eyes were black and gleaming. Will had never figured out how to understand them, hence he had learnt through his actions instead.

But Hannibal stayed still, still.

One thing Hannibal was sure about was that he missed Will. The little teacup he shattered and capable of bringing back together. The man he loved in his own ways.

"Sleep, now," and he said, denying him in his distress and himself as well. He left a peck on his forehead, as if he hoped—no, as if he was sure he hadn't done anything. As if he thought a single brush of his lips against his temple would fix the mind he broke.

Maybe it had always been like that.

The moon was peeking through the curtains when Hannibal tucked him back in bed. He could hear a faint sloshing of water from the bathroom just across their king-sized bed, of which it became a haphazard surreal berceuse for him, pulling him back to a total slumber he hadn't managed to achieve.

* * *

The newspaper came in late that morning.

Will worked his way down the stairs with a lighter blanket than the weighted one they used for sleeping over his shoulders. The bedroom had been cold despite the coiling warmth of the sunbathe raying through the unrailed curtains. Hannibal must have woken up early, per usual. It was to no surprise that the view of his husband with the news held up to his line of sight had greeted him already. He sat down at the dining table with a cup of smoking black coffee which beans were grounded on his own with the new grinder they both brought from the nearby appliances store, just last week.

Even though Will had not had any slippers on that morning, it seemed like his presence was easily noticeable. His footsteps were probably heavy enough to one’s hearing. The only person in there, his husband, then got up to grab something from the kitchen.

“Good morning, Will,” he greeted, dropping the papers he had been reading to his space on the table.

There were more than two chairs circling around the modern-style rectangular dining table of theirs. Of course, considering the frequency of how often Hannibal would invite his renowned French colleagues over for a dinner–Will is not too fluent in French, nonetheless–those furnitures would be necessary to keep.

Hannibal had always been fond of the spot in the center of the dining table. Will chose to sit in the chair right beside him. The older man went back with two glass bowls with him, putting in front of his seat and his husband’s. Will’s breakfast, served in front of him, consisted of what seemed like a creamy vegetable soup with a runny egg on top.

“I baked you _oeufs cocotte_. Eggs, of course, placed in greased and flavoured pots, topped with bacon, fresh herbs, and pesto, then baked in the oven while still keeping the egg runny. Delicious in flavor and highly versatile.”

“...This was baked?”

“It was.”

The dish didn’t look like a regular soup, after all. It did seem more complex with the cream decorating the top of the dish. Bet it had been pretty laborious to keep the egg runny altogether with all those ingredients added. Not that he doubted Hannibal’s cooking skills; they just never failed to impress him, even after all this time.

Nothing had changed much ever since they decided to move overseas, he supposed. Hannibal was just blatant regarding his urges to spoil Will. He enjoyed the treatment, of course, but due to the change in their dynamics right now, Will felt like he needed to do _more_ to _please_ Hannibal.

After what he found out last night, to have insecurities would be inevitable.

Will picked up his spoon, delishing the dish in front of him with the usual high expectations he had towards Hannibal. “It’s delicious,” he said, giving praise which he knew was not new anymore to the chef.

He saw Hannibal flashed him a smile, watching him dig the dish he cooked, heartwarming as it should be, except it wasn’t.

Every time there’s something bugging his mind, he would worry too much. It’s in his nature to do so, and he hated every single time he did while Hannibal looked like he didn’t bother it much.

Monday mornings were the same for Hannibal. They did leave their job and prestige back in the states, but Hannibal, as the refined and sophisticated man he is, was quick in building up a new reputation in Marseille. It was a new knowledge for Will as well when he eventually found out about the title Hannibal held—little did he realize that he hadn't known Hannibal's full name before. Everybody just seemed to love aristocracy, he thought. Indeed, Hannibal's plain sailing was remarkable.

"At what time are you going to the university?" Will asked, digging his spoon into the soup, picking up the honey-buttered bread which Hannibal had presented along for breakfast.

"One lecture at 11 PM, sharp. We can take the morning slowly. It's barely 9 AM."

Responding to the information, Will let out a simple "Oh," out of his mouth.

Hannibal had not yet taken a bath. He had put aside the news he was reading, and now enjoying the food he cooked by himself. Will had so much he wanted to ask Hannibal, did he really have to?

All these things had happened in a rush, but never indistinguishable at the traits of its occurrences. It was piercing and reopening Will's memories of some past agitation of his husband's; a game only both of them could play without getting hurt.

They had been married for five years. Perhaps it's time to _spice some things up?_ So people would say. At the same time, he still couldn't believe Hannibal had done him like that. He thought they were just fine.

Knowing Hannibal, Will should have been aware that he indirectly would have signed up for this.

They finished breakfast in around half an hour. The usual morning chit-chat had ensued, such as Will asking, "What's in the news?" since he's still missing some French vocabularies, and wouldn't want to have strained his brain early in the day. To which Hannibal answered by reading the headline in French along with its translation in English.

Very educational, Will thought.

Nevertheless, he ended up taking the neglected newspaper Hannibal placed on the coffee table when he decided to go upstairs and take a bath. There had not been much on the news, indeed, and certainly not any news regarding any killing, except the one informing that the killer of a woman in her 40s which happened almost more than a month ago hadn’t been found yet. It was his. The other news were local; trending businesses, football, cuisine.

Will stood by the sink doing the dishes after offering himself to help. It was a strain, he barely realized. Hannibal did really use a lot of appliances for his cooking.

By the time Hannibal finished with his bath, Will noticed his presence of arrival through a different scent of an expensive eau de toilette from yesterday’s perfume. The scent was something like pepper and facets of freshly laundered linen sheets, although rather mild in its intensity.

Will placed the last plate he washed, tiptoeing to reach the cabinet over his head when he felt Hannibal’s arms pulling his hips closer to his. Will closed the cabinet once he had successfully put the plate in, his arms placed on his husband’s waist.

His husband, a lecturer, dressed semi-formally; beige blazers over light ash grey t-shirt and a nude dress trousers a slightly different shade from his top. He looked neat, and Will suddenly felt the urge to _mess him up_.

Truly he eventually figured out that he loathed the fact that he had stayed inside most of the time, being a Bluebeard’s wife—would he be the last? Or would he deny him his end? Hannibal had not withheld him anything, now that he realized, nor had he tried to suppress his urges neither. What would there be left to display to Hannibal? Had his husband changed his mind about the enticement he sought from himself, or was the anguish he inflicted to him just the beginning of another torment to shape himself into something else, something he preferred more to behold from Will now that he’s grown bored of their dynamics?

Was he growing tired of him?

Hannibal's hands were rough and cold at the same time when Will led it from his hips to touch his belly—reminding him of the feel and thrill when he gutted him there five years ago. The tissue of his skin had formed a very despicable scar, such a thing which surely wouldn't disappear even after years.

He bore Hannibal's mark. Hannibal's brand.

He wanted Hannibal to _remember_ who he was, and he should no longer forget after this.

"Haven't you missed me last night, Hannibal?" A whisper, to Hannibal's ear, as Will leaned in even closer to his husband, trying to engage a kiss.

"Darling," he heard him whisper back.

They liked to get all touchy, and whenever Will initiated it first, Hannibal would know exactly what Will wanted to do … and what exactly he had to do.

He couldn't answer Will, and the lean man hadn't given him more time to do so either.

"I missed you, Hannibal. Touch me. Here, right here."

Their hands were both on Will's torso. The surface of his skin was ugly and frontal, yet it successfully roused up Hannibal's titillation. With Will's hand on his wrists, he was intending to keep him there, and Hannibal would've hated himself if he would again retain himself in reclaiming what's his.

Hannibal pulled up his thin t-shirt, nearly ripping it off when he trailed his big palm over up to Will's chest, through his treasure trail, merely brushing off his instantly hard and brownish nipples, only to settle back to his torso where his brand laid.

Will leaned to the kitchen counter as Hannibal invited him into a demonically passionate kiss. It was long and intense, till it seemed to eventually coil their ardor of lust. He could smell Hannibal's mint breath as he kissed him back, uncaring about him being ungroomed and dirty. When Hannibal stopped caressing his scar and went to assault his cock instead down below, Will pulled back, both his arms sustaining himself to the marble counter of their utilitarian kitchen.

He enjoyed the push and pull around his waist, as well as the violent strokes down his shaft. Will arched his hips to gain more of that friction, bestowing Hannibal the mesmerizing sight of his lean, pale hips buckling, and the strain of his throat muscles trying to hold back from moaning too loud. Indirectly, he made his position vulnerable, and his neck exposed to his husband’s magnificently vicious fangs and his charmingly crooked teeth; letting the older man engrave another brand into his unmarked skin.

With a quick maneuver, Hannibal lifted Will up the kitchen counter behind him only to continue with his act. The strong sound of thud when Will’s ass hit the hard surface did make him shiver, bemused with the strength his husband possessed, encouraging his legs to lift themselves up and wrapping it around Hannibal. Although he did, seconds later Will could feel a thrust between, forcing him to open his legs instead, followed by a hasty gesture of pulling his briefs off, along with his underwear.

Hannibal spat on his hand, using it as lube as he teased Will’s cock right in front of him.

“Dirty whore,” he said, unhesitant. “Already begging to get railed early in the morning. Is that the only thing on your mind?”

The grip on his cock was almost unforgiving. However pleasurable the tempo of Hannibal’s strokes at it might be, the pressure it inflicted was blocking him from getting off. For once again, it was him who got reminded of who he belonged to.

Letting a pained grunt out of his throat, Will shook Hannibal off of him, only to receive a punishing slap on his thighs.

"Stay still," Hannibal _commanded_ , like he always did, to which Will answered with an agonized moan. "You've asked for this, and you're going to take what _I_ give you."

The service on his cock was accompanied with a hard squeeze, then sometimes a loose stroke toward the pink brown jut of his cock. Will's cock was uncut, but now it's totally hard from all those foreplay Hannibal did. He kept on doing the teasing until there seemed to be nowhere to go for Will, debauching his beloved with his own mess; panting, covered with sweat, _panting_ , leaking precum.

"Ah, ah—H-Hannibal," Will moaned, his legs shivering, trying not to close itself.

Hannibal–that smug bastard–kept on stimulating Will, but gradually kept himself away from him. He was trying not to get his clothes _dirty_ , considering he was about to go and give a lecture. Laying Will flat on the kitchen counter now, he pulled up his whole shirt then, stripping it off himself.

With Will totally naked and Hannibal still clothed, the lean man couldn't help but feel a pang of embarrassment, vast creeping all over his cheeks, flushing bright red. He didn't want to let Hannibal assert his dominance even more, and he became determined this time.

While his husband took his blazers off, placed it behind him and scooched over slightly between him and started to give him an oral, Will gasped, but hadn't managed to struggle. He lifted his arms up the counter as well, both neglected either on his stomach or the cold marble of the tabletop. There was no hesitation at all when Hannibal promptly swallowed his whole shaft, indirectly making the swollen glans of his cock touch the back of his throat, warmed inside his oral cavity.

It would be a lie if he said he could withstand Hannibal toying with his body. The pleasure was overwhelming, and his heart beated in a vast and fast _thump_ , _thump_ , its owner bewildered in unknowing what should he do that he placed the back of his hand right in front of his mouth, biting into it to express the inexplicable pleasure he was _given_. Hannibal's hands were then on his balls, which had been left dangling but now unignored. The combination of Hannibal's mouth around his cock, a series of some feverish licks along it, together with the teasing on his scrotum almost made Will a sobbing mess.

Out of shyness he averted from the top tip of Hannibal's head, where some grey strands would grow from the roots of his severely coiffed hair, his bangs falling from his forehead and tickling his pubes. Will had turned his face away from the sight when his gaze met the rack just across his head, with Hannibal's knives set–probably complete of every kind of knives existing in this world–arrayed neatly in it.

It was dangerous, he knew, but Will somehow managed to knock down the rack and grabbed one of the knives—probably the meat knife, but he would never actually know.

His hand trembled, but his grip on the handle was keen enough. The fall of the knives rack had apparently distracted Hannibal from his act, and now his husband leaned away threatened as Will ended up having the knife beside his temple. By no other means, Will took it as an opening to switch their power play. He rose up, ignoring the painful boner on his dick and kicked Hannibal on his chest wholeheartedly, aware that it would be hard for him to easily be compared in vigor with the kind of state he was in.

Taken aback, his husband had hit another counter behind him, and Will, instead of approaching to assault him back, sat by the same counter he was ravished upon.

"Don't come near me," said the smaller man, as he gathered himself to remain unwavering. In his behold, Hannibal's countenance showed more than perplexity, yet also engrossment seeing Will fight against him for himself. He let out an audibly feral grunt, either pleased or aroused.

Hannibal could significantly feel his cock harden, hoping to taste fresh air through the tight buttons of his fly. The sight of a Will Graham pointing that sharp, glistening barb of knife toward him should have been intimidating. Perhaps it had been, for some milliseconds, but then what he could think of was only **_fuck_** , Will was beautiful.

He always had been.

Clearly he needed to stabilize his breathing first as well, with the physical shock his lungs experienced from his husband's defile.

"Your urge to end me, again."

As Will wished, Hannibal didn't come any further.

"No,” it was such an untrue accusation. Of course, Will denied it.  
  
“I have never thought of killing you anymore, Hannibal. Can’t you see? Never have I wanted a man whose mark I bore to be dead.”

The knife trailed along his abdomen scar, with its end retracing new scratches upon the swollen, obtrusive part of the skin. The movement was slow, but sure, and Hannibal swore he saw Will started to turn where the end of his knife was pointing, then pierced his wound with the knife he was holding.

"I want you to see how much I missed you."

Along with that and a little smile of mockery which gradually bloomed on Will's countenance, burned the twisted arousal suffocating Hannibal's groin from seeing how miserable he had pushed Will to become. Next, following the sharp, immediate push of the knife to his guts, Will started to groan, then bleed.

Will chuckled, breathy and indignant, piquing Hannibal's psychoanalyzation of him being all-resentful and victorious as he saw the expression he made. Hannibal gritted his teeth, his fist curling to the fact that Will was hurting himself in order to hurt him.

"Remarkable boy," Hannibal couldn't help but admit. The courage Will exhibited was highly vigorous, it made him impatient to finally touch his husband.

Digging deeper into his guts, despite having a high tolerance for pain, Will cried out still, and Hannibal had let him, enjoying the performative goring he was inflicting upon himself. The knife plunged in, and with shaking hands, he tore it to the side, reenacting Hannibal, trailing the old scar.

Blood started gushing from the opening of Will's wound. A lot of blood. Almost like the Styx River in anguish, its stream waterfalling through his pubic hair, to his genital, to his thighs, to the floor. It was graphic. It was beautiful, until the grip on the knife loosened. To gore himself was a huge amount of strain, and Will nearly collapsed to the floor, sliding on his own red liquid.

Now that he saw it, his boy was coping—Hannibal had broken him, yet again, and this amount of self-harming should have been alarming. He … he had to stop Will.

"Will?"

When Will fell down from the kitchen counter, Hannibal quickly held him up. He had already pulled the knife out of his torso, and the blood started pooling even more. The small hands of his husband clawed the wide shoulders of his as he hugged him, smearing his blood over his laundered clothes, pressing his body onto Hannibal. He could hear Will whimper, a sharp cry of agony, but never regret, after a loud sound of metal hitting their oak wood flooring.

"I've got you, darling," leaving some desperate, heartfelt pecks to his forehead, "You have proven yourself enough to me."

Hannibal held him by his hips, sustaining the limp, naked legs of his. He put his hands on the wound Will caused on himself, getting him back up to the kitchen counter where he used to sit, trying to stop the bleeding.

Again, Will was panting. The wound was not deep, or at least not deep enough for his guts to fall when he bowed down. It was wide, however.

Will clung to him like a lost puppy, and Hannibal didn't care if his clothes got dirty. He could then feel his shirt become damp, Will apparently cried in silence on it.

"Why did you cheat on me?" Then he finally questioned, uttering the inquiry which hadn't been answered, hadn't been spoken.

Caressing Will's scruffy hair on the back of his head, Hannibal, with a penitent sigh, answered, "I could never entirely predict you even after all these times. I wanted to see you, never get enough of you."

There was not an extra beat of heart when Hannibal said that. It was a confession, which Will believed, which relieved him.

"Do me and I'll forgive you," said Will, sounding like a bad idea considering his wound—but they were already halfway through and he could somehow still feel Hannibal's massive bulge in his pants.

" _Mylimasis_ ," indeed, he could never predict him.

"Come on, H-Hannibal," Will whined, stuttering a little bit because of the pain. "I can take it. I will take it, like you said I should take anything you give me."

That being said, never in his life Hannibal had imagined of fucking his husband while he was being wounded and helpless. It might not be sane, but it was consensual … at the very least.

"Take this off. Take it before I take it off myself," Will tugged his blazers, while one of his hands rubbed his cock from the outside, smearing blood yet again to his trousers this time.

Understanding the state his husband was in and not wanting him to move too much, Hannibal finally stripped off his blazers, leaving his shirt on and unbuckled his own fly and slid it down together with his underwear. He had already been painfully hard, solely by seeing his husband gutting himself in front of him and the thought of him coming back to him after throwing all that tantrum.

"Come on, Hannibal. I want to feel you inside me. Remind me, mark me again. Show me how evoked you are towards myself."

Will's breaths were short, and Hannibal could know how turned he was knowing that he got off on this kind of thing. It must have really been excruciating for Will, but Hannibal couldn't help but be proud of what a strong boy his husband had been. Beautiful, mesmerizing boy.

The blood was gradually drying on Will's thighs, but there was still a small flow of it from the wound. The feeling he achieved when he rubbed his cock on it was almost inexplicable, but it felt great nevertheless—there was still the warmth of the blood bestowing his shaft, and Hannibal couldn't help but to grind on it for awhile.

It felt ticklish for Will, and surprising and burning when his husband pushed his cock which had been protruding in front of his anal. "Then take it," he'd said, fiercely growling, pushing his entire shaft in Will's hole afterwards.

The feeling next was full, painful, delightful, and almost metaphysical for all those sensations Hannibal bestowed him. Nevertheless, his husband hadn't moved, purely giving him time to adjust with the stretch of his width.

It also felt like mercy.

He jerked off his own cock with his hands, secondarily using his own blood for lubrication. It brought a moan and a groan out of his mouth, to which Hannibal ate out with another kiss, sloppy and impromptu yet long and fervent.

And they moved eventually, although not together.

Having his legs taut around Hannibal again, this time Will was rather passive. Hannibal touched both of his sensitive nipples in turn, making him jerk from the sensation. Every thrust and roll of Hannibal's hips choked a moan out of Will, and also a moan out of Hannibal when he felt the sudden, breathtaking tight grip of his husband's orifice.

For carnal knowledge Hannibal hadn't used any lubrication before shoving his cock down Will's ass, except for what seemed to be the drying sticking blood on their genitals. The act had indeed given them more pain than pleasure because of the dryness, but it didn't matter. What got off both of them may be the thrill of agony, yet surely neither of them would deny that it was the company and litany of their dynamics.

Hannibal managed to hit Will's pleasure spot, and his husband hissed jolly as it sent chills along his nerves.

"Yes, Hannibal!" He cried out, slightly arching his hips to gain more of that friction.

Their eyes fixated on each other. There was a little drop of tears tearing out the corner of Will's hazy eyes, and at that moment Hannibal's claws on his hips nearly felt like it would leave a permanent mark.

"Will," Hannibal's breath hitched, calling his husband's name back.

The thrusts were hasty, still trying to seek indulgence, but Hannibal altered their flow by giving a more rhythmic, yet forceful thrust which sent Will mewling.

As Will tried to roll his hips out of desperation, the blood from his opened wound pooled again in his belly, tainting the back of Will's hand holding his cock. Hannibal slapped his ass, instructing him not to move so he wouldn't lose more blood while he kept on with his pace.

"Sweet, insatiable boy," he implied, leaning in yet again to his neck, biting his shoulder hard that Will cried harder.

"I could swallow you whole," Hannibal whispered. "Or I can pull out your guts and dismantle you piece by piece. Eat you raw and slowly savour the taste of your flesh. The fresh, warm, red muscles and nerves of yours. Let you live inside of me, forever."

It was utterly his husband's kind of verbal display of dominance. Such mentions railed Will very much, stirring the excitement within his underbelly, made him imagine Hannibal's depiction graphicly. Hannibal lifted his legs up, eventually moving his hips violently.

Gore had always enticed him.

With Hannibal's quickening thrust, Will recognized how easy the sliding in and out had been with the blood and precum all over his hole. The smell of sex and sweat and iron stimulated a surge of arousal to wash over his whole nerves, and Will came down the high with a shrill whimper.

Hannibal subsided his hips despite still being inside Will and overwhelmingly aroused with how debauched his husband had become, then kissed him for the third time that morning. He let down his legs, parted his bangs and left a peck on his forehead, left Will breathless before giving him a chance to breathe as he pulled out on a spur.

Knowing his husband hadn’t come yet, Will strenuously switched his position—laying by his side and let Hannibal jerk his cock in front of him. His face looked pale, but Hannibal shoved his cock down his mouth anyway. Will could savour his own taste and Hannibal’s salty precum within his tongue, but mostly it was tang—the familiar rich flavour of blood he hadn’t realized he missed. The fact that it was his own could have turned him on again, but he couldn't manage to with the amount of blood he had lost.

Both him and his dick was too limp to get hard anymore. So Hannibal did his own job, although carelessly, using his mouth for his own pleasure.

Hannibal pounded Will's mouth brutally, audibly grunting and displaying his neck; that Adam Apple of his, bobbing as he swallow down his own saliva in great awe of his husband's state of being so lax that he hadn't gagged at all when he rolled his hips, over and over with great force, despise the slightly unpleasant grind of his teeth.

The sex had been rough, wretching and excruciating for him but he eventually came anyway, pulling out even though he had drowned in the ecstasy of Will's painfully tight mouth and almost gritting jaw. With a long moan, the thick substance of Hannibal's cum dirtied Will's face while he was just laying there helpless and spent already.

Jerking a bit, he put one of his legs upon the counter, beside Will's face, and this time shoved his balls to his husband's nose, leaving some blood stains on that angelic face. Somehow Will willingly sniffed on it, or gasped he did. Hannibal had let out a relaxed sigh, when he slowly pulled away but then saw his husband lose consciousness.

* * *

When the newspaper came down the door the next morning, the headline said: **_Le Meurtrier du Cœur d'un Homme, Qui Est-ce?_ **


End file.
